


Youth

by Troop_Scoop



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Female Reader, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troop_Scoop/pseuds/Troop_Scoop
Summary: On a family trip to your dad’s home town of Hawkins, Indiana, you make a series of decisions that result in you ending up in the year 1983 with more questions than there are answers presently available.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader, Steve Harrington/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go through what’s become your new ‘normal’ at Hawkins High School

Nothing about your current situation was settling right in your stomach. There were no answers as to how you got here, and you didn’t have any questions that could easily be answered. A series of unfortunate events resulted in the attitude you carried. You used to be sweet, all smiles and laughter unless someone did something to make you upset.

What happened to that girl? The girl who grew up never experiencing fear to the point where it worried her parents and made teachers concerned because she’d climb so high on the playground that if you fell, you’d surely break something.

You’d climbed so high on something, and you fell into this situation, and something did break. Your bravery, your fearlessness, nothing physical, but those two things were shattered, and your ego bruised.

Nothing was like what you were used to. To you, everything in this school hallway was dated. The fashion, the haircuts, the textbooks, and the tech.

The stereotypes.

“L/n!”

You shook your head, already knowing whose voice that was. A teenage boy who fit the typical ‘jock’ stereotype that everyone knew. The kid who hated his small town, he got around, played a sport his father probably hated, who would likely never get out of said small town he hated. Yeah, you knew the pattern. Everyone, where you were from, did.

“No.”

You continued on your trek to the locker, but you could hear the slight squeaking of the soles of the older boy’s Nikes on the linoleum floor trying to catch up. Where you were from, people would be staring at this type of occurrence, but because none of the students surrounding you even batted an eye at the basketball player or you for that matter, told you that it wasn’t abnormal for him to be audacious.

“Hey now, I just wanna talk.” He defended, finally catching up to you, walking alongside, but a little bit behind so he didn’t get in anyone’s way.

“Harrington, the last time you wanted to ‘talk’ was when you needed my math homework.” A chuckle escaped you as you said it, finally stopping at your locker.

“In my defense, you don’t look like a sophomore.” He tried, standing next to you as you were spinning the knob in the locker to get it open.

“Whatever, what do you want?”

“Wow, you’re grumpy. Anyways, Tommy H, Carol, and I wanna hang out but my parents don’t leave for another week, and we can’t be at Carol’s place because her mom hates Tommy, and well, you know how Tommy’s dad is.”

You hummed in amusement. “Yeah, he’s a dick, how does that involve me?” You had your binder and pencil case in one arm, staring at him with your hand inside of your locker, holding onto the cup of coffee.

“Can we hang out at your place?”

Rolling your eyes you kneeled down, placing your things down on the ground before standing upright, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling it towards your locker, placing it inside before closing the door on it. “Not happening.” You responded, a bright smile on your face as you grabbed your things, taking a step to walk away.

“Y/n! This isn’t funny!”

“I’m gonna correct you on that, it’s not funny to you.” The situation was probably the funniest thing you’d encountered in weeks, and considering your day to day life before used to be full of laughter and playfully teasing, that then went to quiet days spent alone and pondering, this was a nice change.

“Unlock it or I’ll tell Mrs. Jensen!”

Steve’s threat caused you to laugh, holding your things closer so you didn’t drop any of them. “A tattletale? You always did strike me as the type to tease kids in elementary school, but you never did seem like a snitch, you do know the saying right? About snitches?”

“Yeah, from you!” he responded, and although he had a serious face, you knew he was fighting back a smile as well by his voice and how his brows weren’t furrowed in frustration or anger.

“Snitches are bitches, who get stitches and end up in ditches.” it wasn’t intentional for both of you to say it at the same time, but you had, but in two very different tones of voice. Your’s was more ‘matter of fact’ and he was amused.

You stared at him for a second, your smile remaining before you stepped forward, turning the dial of your lock to open it, and once you lifted the lever for the door, Steve got himself out, standing up straight and staring down at you, his hands finding the pockets of his jacket as you closed the locker door again. “That wasn’t fair, you look innocent,” he mumbled to himself.

“I’ll see you later?” Steve asked after a second.

“We have study hall together, so. . . maybe,” you told him, stepping away from the locker and heading down the hallway to your English class.

Bulletin boards on the walls, spaced out between each other, with thumbtacks keeping flyers and announcements up for students to see, lockers for students to keep their things throughout the day. It was all odd.

At your previous schools, lockers weren’t available. That was until your freshman year where you had to pay five dollars a year if you wanted one. And instead of bulletin boards, flyers and announcements would just be taped to the walls, or given during morning announcements, or emailed to students and parents. You were pretty sure your previous high school got rid of lockers in the late ’90s when drugs became prominent in your area and then got rid of bulletin boards when one student sent the other to the hospital with a thumbtack to the wrist, but those types of stories always had a few details in them that never made sense, allowing you to cast doubt on them. But maybe the story had just been told so many times that detail got twisted, the truth of what happened got misconstrued. Like a game of telephone.

Reaching the English classroom, you found your seat, with your anxiousness rising as you sat down, placing your coffee at the upper corner of your small desk, keeping your school supplies close to your chest.

You’d been a happy kid growing up. You didn’t have very many friends, but you had your parents, your little brother, and a condo that you’d been brought home to as a newborn that you knew was a safe place. Unlike the few friends you did have, you never really experienced anxiety or symptoms of depression, but you knew the signs, your closest friend, Mandy, dealt with it, and she confided in you often about how it felt and what it was like, and you often did your own research on it to know what you could to help her.

There were weekends where you spent a good few hours learning different breathing techniques to help her whenever she would have a panic attack, but now that you were dealing with moments where your heart sped up, your hands shook and you felt like something was terribly wrong, it was like all of those hours had been a waste because you couldn’t use them without getting more anxious.

“You okay?”

Looking to your left, you were met with a curious glance from your partner on the English project. Giving an unconvincing nod, you looked down at the top of your desk, eyes tracing over the wood pattern, lines connecting that looked like they shouldn’t, forming shapes and allowing you to distract yourself as Jonathan set his things down as well, taking his seat next to you.

Mrs. Jensen went over the usual, giving instructions for the project that everyone already knew, before leaving everyone to work, with her sitting behind her desk, a book in hand and a container of what you assumed were grapes by the purplish color. Though they could have been large blueberries.

“What’s so important about a quote?” Jonathan mumbled to himself, though it caught your attention from your own worksheet, looking over to him.

“In what context?” you asked, taking a sip from your drink as he began speaking.

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet, everyone knows what it’s about, you don’t really need a quote to explain things.”

You nodded when he looked over to you. “A lot of people only really know that it was written by Shakespeare and it’s about two star crossed lovers who kill themselves in the end. Mrs. Jensen probably knew that’s all anyone really remembers, she wants to make sure people know what’s actually happening.

“It’s pretty obvious, ‘Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’ she’s asking where he is.” He shrugged a bit, placing the book down on the desk, pages open and light reflecting off of the glossy pages.

“No, she’s not,” you told him, getting an odd and questioning look from him. “Well, this was written in the 1500s, English is practically a new language at that point, getting its own footing for once, paintings of historical figures wouldn’t have the English spelling of their names, and English is a language that’s taken a bunch of different parts from other languages, mostly german. If you ever see a period piece that’s set around this period of time, if a child says ‘lady mother’ when they’re addressing their mom, they’re not acknowledging that their mother is a female. They’re acknowledging her title. So her husband is likely a lord of a piece of land, which makes her the lady of that land as well. It was an archaic way of showing respect to their mother by also saying she had a title.”

“How does that relate to the quote?”

“Well, early modern English had many different phrases, and things have changed, we’ve come up with ways to say things that are far more simple. While we think she’s asking where Romeo is, she’s actually asking why he’s Romeo. Why out of all the people she could have fallen for, it had to be him. The enemy. You could use that in the analysis, a bit of how it shows we don’t choose who we love, even if we know we shouldn’t love them.”

Jonathan blinked before looking at his worksheet, picking up his pencil and writing something down, paraphrasing what you had just said and only moments later the bell rang, signaling the end of the class period.

You grabbed your things, leaving as quickly as you could without looking like an idiot, trying to get away from what caused you to be so nervous and make you feel like you could be sick at any moment.

Growing up, you weren’t afraid of many things if any. But maybe you just needed something like this to make you afraid of everything and anything around you. To make you jump at the sound of a drop of water from outside your motel window landing on the metal railing of the stairs and walkway.

But you were terrified, and you wanted to wake up in your own bed, at home, with your dad gently shaking your shoulder to get you up and out of bed. You were terrified you’d never see your parents again, that you’d been too mean to your little brother growing up, and that the last memory he’d have of you was you being mean.

You hadn’t even been afraid to sleep on your own as a kid, and all the things that you weren’t afraid of as a child that you should have been, always seemed to worry your dad. But what would he say and think now? Would he be worried now that you lived in a constant state of fear? Just looking at clothing racks scared you.

Since July you’d been trying to act normal, trying to pretend everything was okay, trying to be your normal self, but your normal self would be odd to everyone else, you knew random things no one else did, you liked things no one even knew about yet, and if you tried to talk about those things, you knew it wouldn’t be a good outcome, not a sour one, but not happy.


	2. Common Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the disappearance of Will Byers, you lend a helping hand to try an find the missing 12 year old boy.

You’d spent plenty of time staring off into space with your thoughts racing, you’d done it plenty at school, but this wasn’t right, it didn’t feel right and you hated it. Sure, you had plenty of odd experiences growing up, things you used to think were normal for other people, but apparently, they weren’t. And when you’d realized that, you kept them to yourself. But this wasn’t just something you were seeing, this was real, and you knew it, and everything else paled in comparison to this level of oddness.

Why was it always small towns? When you hear about missing people or cold cases that seem to throw police and detectives for a loop it always took place in small towns, quiet ones that people described as great to raise your kids in, places people settled down in to get away from the big cities.

When you’d been getting things together to leave for the day, you’d briefly heard about a missing kid, but hadn’t heard the name before you were slamming the motel door behind you to get to school, hopping down the walkway to the stairs trying to get your shoes on.

It wasn’t right, you would have known about this. Wouldn’t you? Sure, your dad never really talked much about his home town unless it was fond memories with his childhood friends, your uncles, but this was huge, something that should have at least been mentioned.

You had zoned out of the conversation happening next to you, ignoring every detail about the party Steve was throwing that night. You’d already declined on going to, much to both Steve and Carol’s disappointment. Carol mentioned how she was desperate to have another girl in their friend group, while Steve didn’t have much to say, just saying to come with him to find Nancy Wheeler.

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.”

Steve’s tone wasn’t what you would consider empathetic, it was rather that of someone who didn’t want to see what was happening.

Tommy, Barbara, Nancy, Steve, and Carol all looked to the subject of your staring, their eyes all landing on Jonathan Byers using a thumbtack to put a missing person flyer on the bulletin board near the front office.

“Should we say something?” Nancy questioned.

“I don’t think he speaks.”

“How much you want to bet he killed him?” At that, you turned your head and glared at Tommy, as Steve hit his chest a friendly yet serious “Shut up.” being said before you turned back to look at Jonathan.

Nancy walked towards him, leaving the rest of you to stand and wait. The only real thing you could think about was how when you were 11, you had been with your parents, uncle, aunt and cousins, helping your uncle and aunt pack things to move to a new house, and when you’d been left alone, you’d found a box full of old things and you’d dug through it, curiosity getting the best of you. You’d gotten to an old yearbook, labeled ‘1984-1985.’ and before you could ever flip through half of it, your uncle had snatched it away from you, and without saying a word, he’d grabbed the box and left the room.

“You alright?” Barabara asked you, reaching out to hold your shoulder, it brought the other three’s attention to you as well. You didn’t really know Barbara, but you knew she had good grades, and sometimes tutored students in the library after school.

“Yeah, peachy.” was your response, turning your attention back to the conversation Nancy was having with Jonathan, everything being said completely unknown to all of you with the distance.

The bell rang, and students began to frantically move, like cockroaches when you turned a light on. Scattering as quick as they could, but Barabara kept a hand on your shoulder, and in your peripheral vision you could make out her concerned look. Watching as Nancy came back over to the group of students Barbara took her hand off of your shoulder, everyone turning to walk down the hall once Nancy was there. But you were stalling, taking slow uneasy steps, barely keeping your eyes off of Jonathan, but when you knew that the group of students wouldn’t notice you weren’t with them, you turned back around, to see Jonathan heading for the doors.

“Jonathan!” You called out, jogging after him, seeing him stop just as he reached the metal and glass door. Catching up you placed your hands on your hips, trying to think of what to say. “Where we going?”

“What?” Jonathan questioned, brows furrowed as he looked at you, both his hands on the push bar of the door.

“Where we going? Wanna hear it French? Ou Allons nous?”

“We are not going anywhere. You have to go to. . .” Jonathan looked at the small notebook you held between two fingers, reading the angry red scribble on the front that said ‘Math’ “Mr. Swann’s?”

You breathed out through your nose, dropping your notebook. “Not anymore. Where are we going? This is about your brother, right? I wanna help.”

Jonathan sighed a bit, looking down at the linoleum floor before back up at you. “Why?”

“Common interest.” You told him.

“Our English project doesn’t have anything to do with-”

“This isn’t about Romeo and Juliet, moron. This is about your brother. Listen I just. . . everything about this, makes my stomach churn, I need to see him come back home alive. See? Common interest.”

Jonathan gave an absent-minded nod, the look on his face telling you he knew that feeling. “Indianapolis.” He told you, opening the door and barely stepping out, with you hot on his heels. But he stopped suddenly, turning back to you, holding a finger up. “But you stay out of it, Lonnie isn’t too friendly, and I've seen him angry. If I tell you to go back to the car, you go, understand?”

“You’re not my dad, if I see things start going south, I’m getting both of us out of there.” You told him. “Teamwork makes the dream work, now go before I stomp on your shoes, and there’s no guarantee that I won’t give you a flat tire on the way to the car.”

* * *

Sitting in the passenger seat, you looked to the radio, eyes on the station number as the familiar intro to a song began on the radio. The first time you remembered hearing the song, you were four and had woken up from a nap to the smell of macaroni and cheese, and the sound of your newborn baby brother sneezing in his sleep in the crib on the other side of the room. The music was being played from the living room stereo, loudly. But one thing about being raised by your dads was that you had to adapt to loud music being played. Even Daniel had adapted to it at a few weeks old. You’d gotten out of bed and gotten to the living room, where the stereo was on, and your dad in the kitchen, putting some of the macaroni in one of your bowls and one of his own.

The last time you remembered listening to that song was when your cousins had convinced you to go with them into town, Torrey being the one with the idea, and with her speaker, playing a random playlist. You remembered that she skipped the song halfway through.

Torrey never had a good track record, that was for sure, she was always in trouble, much to your uncle Mike’s dismay. But you and James were always the more reasonable ones out of all of you. But Torrey was the oldest, and as a result, like the older sister, and everyone wanted to be like their cool older sister. So whatever she suggested the lot of you do, you did it.

That always resulted in trouble. The only one who could ever reason with all of you was Uncle Dustin, of course, it had to be the uncle who didn’t have kids. It annoyed Mike, Lucas, and your dad to no end that when with Torrey, they couldn’t get through to any of you.

But, Torrey wasn’t technically your oldest cousin. No, that was Rob. Your uncle’s oldest son. But he was a bit over a decade older than you, so you didn’t really know him all too well. Torrey was almost a decade older, just short two years.

“This the place?” you asked, looking past Jonathan trying to see through the foggy window, rain pouring down onto the pavement outside, and tapping gently on the windows and roof of the car. The fogged-up window told you it was cold out there, and warmer inside.

“Yeah. . .”

“Lonnie’s. . . Who is Lonnie, exactly?” You questioned, unbuckling the seatbelt as Jonathan did the same.

“Our dad,” Jonathan answered, opening his car door and getting out. You reached into the backseat, grabbing your coat as a sudden and startling cool gust of wind hit you, sending goosebumps up your neck and arms. Jumping a bit you looked to the door, seeing that Jonathan had gotten it for you. “Come on.” he rushed you.

You didn’t know if you wanted to go up to the house that the teenage boy was eyeing, you knew that if you’d never heard about Lonnie before, it was for a reason. Likely a good one.

Stepping out of the car, you pulled your jacket on just as Jonathan closed the passenger door for you, heading to the run-down home across the street. You followed shortly after, feeling your ankles begin to get wet as drops of rain-soaked through the canvas material of your shoes.

Standing under the overhang of the front porch you watched as Jonathan looked through the glass of the front door, music from either a television or stereo being hear from outside, over the rain. Jonathan knocked on the door. “Hello?” He shouted.

“Maybe he’s not home?”

Jonathan gave a bitter scoff as he continued to bang on the door insistently before you heard a woman’s voice yell out something indistinct. And before you could process it, the front door was opened.

“Can I help you?” She demanded.

“Yeah, is Lonnie around?” Jonathan asked, his body language giving off just as much attitude as her but his voice remaining calm.

“Yeah, he’s out back. What do you want?”

“To look around.” and with that, Jonathan stepped past her into the house, with you following right behind.

The living area had warm lighting from the lamps, with the absence of an overhead light. And the tv that was small by your standards had M.TV on. It was a mess, with things seemingly tossed around, it felt like the beginning of a hoarder’s home before it got worse and it was filmed for a stupid television show.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Hey!” The woman yelled after the two of you. You were hot on Jonathan’s heels, keeping in mind what he said about his father. You’d rather stick close.

“We’ll be fast, promise!” you told her.

“Hey, Will?” Jonathan questioned, going down the hallway, looking into doorways, calling out his younger brother’s name in a more urgent tone while you gave a longer look into each room.

Jonathan turned around from the last room, shaking his head and looking at you, going to walk back out of the hall. But just as he came to the end, a man slammed Jonathan against the wall, holding the collar of his sherpa jean jacket. You jumped back, just before Jonathan shoved who you were now assuming was Lonnie. “Get off!”

“Damn, you’ve gotten stronger.” The older man gave a shove to Jonathan’s shoulder, looking past the two males you saw the woman from the front door.

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on?”

Lonnie looked at her, then back at Jonathan and then to you, before doing the opposite. “Jonathan, Cynthia. Cynthia this is Jonathan. My oldest. I don’t know who this little lady is.”

Lonnie shoved Jonathan’s shoulder again before pulling him into a hug. “Get off me, man.” Jonathan pushed him off.

The look on Lonnie’s face was that of pure cluelessness as if he didn’t understand why Jonathan would shove him away like that. But with how Jonathan had briefly spoken about him and how he had just acted, you knew the relationship wasn’t what you’d expect of a father and son.

Lonnie turned his gaze to you, “Who’s she?” He asked, looking to Jonathan again.

“A friend,” you responded. Sure, you and Jonathan weren’t all that close, but in this situation, you were sure he needed one, and even if you weren’t technically ‘friends’ he would know he had someone in his corner. “We’re looking for Will.”

“I already talked to the cops. He’s not here and he never has been.”

“Right, well, I think everyone gets a little nervous when they see and talk to cops, if Will’s here I doubt he would have come out when police were here.”

Lonnie looked as though he was trying to process what you had said. “If it makes you two feel better you can look around.”

“Hm, gladly,” you responded.

Jonathan and you spent a few moments in the rundown house, and once the rain had let up, Jonathan went outside, with you and Lonnie both trailing behind.

“Take a look at this beaut. Should’ve seen it when I got it. Took me a year, but it’s almost done.” Lonnie spoke about the car Jonathan was headed toward, opening the trunk once he reached the back. “Really? Do you want to check up my ass, too? I told you the same thing I told those cops, he’s not here and he never has been.”

“Then why didn’t you call Mom back?”

“I don’t know, I just. . . I assumed she forgot where he was. You know, he was lost or something. That boy was never very good at taking care of himself.”

“This isn’t some joke, all right? There are search parties, reporters. . .”

The way Lonnie was treating the situation made you uncomfortable. He didn’t care. It was clear he didn’t with the new information that Jonathan’s mother had called him, and he never answered or called back, how he lived a two-hour drive away and seemed to be talking about anything else but Will.

“Hopper’s not still chief, is he? Tell your mother she’s gotta get you out of that hellhole. Come out here to the city. People are more real here, you know? And then I could see you more.”

“If you wanted to see them more you wouldn’t have made the choice to live so far away.” You interrupted. You knew full well that had your parents ever split in an ugly way like it seemed Lonnie and Joyce had, neither of your fathers would move so far away that it felt like two different worlds. They’d stay close together so both you and your brother still had both of them. “Sounds like shitty parenting on your part, not her’s.”

Lonnie looked at you and tilted his head. “What? You think I don’t want to see my boys?”

“It’s kinda obvious that you don’t.” You responded, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Has Jonathan let you be around his mother? Because you sound just like her. Speaking of her, does she even know you’re here?” Lonnie turned back to Jonathan. You didn’t even know the answer to that, but Jonathan’s silence was an answer. “Great. So one kid goes missing, the other one runs wild? Some real fine parenting right there. Look, all I’m saying is, maybe I’m not the asshole, all right?”

Though Lonie couldn’t see it, you were glaring at him, but Jonathan could, and he gave you a look before reaching into his shoulder bag, pulling out a poster. A copy of the one he’d put up at school. “In case you forgot what he looks like,” Jonathan grumbled, shoving the poster into Lonnie’s chest as he walked away. Gesturing for you to follow.

The two of you walked around the house instead of through it, with small water droplets coming down once again as you crossed the street to the car.

“He’s a prick.” You mumbled as you passed Jonathan to get to the passenger side. Jonathan stared at you for a second.

“Y/n.”

You had grabbed onto the handle of the car door when he said your name, catching your attention. “Yeah?”

“Why do you care? You’re new in Hawkins, you’ve only been there for a few months, and you care about this more than people who have known me and Will since were kids. You’ve never even seen Will.”

You looked down at the pavement beneath you. The smell of rain invading your nose, calming you down just a bit. “Common interest.” You repeated what you had said before.

He didn’t look convinced with how his face seemed to harden and become far more serious. “Look,” You started, letting go of the handle resting your hands on the roof of the car. “Will’s alive, he has to be. I know he is. If I told you how I know, you’d call me crazy. I care about you, your brother and your mom. Lonnie? Not so much. . . Just. . . trust me, okay?”

Jonathan didn’t say anything or even do anything else in response. He opened the driver’s door and got in his seat, tossing his bag into the back as you did the same, buckling yourself in and looking out the window.


	3. Brawford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some semblance of trust with Jonathan is built. Steve shows what you’d consider his ‘good side’ and you remember things from your early childhood and before you ended up in 1983.

“Where do you need to be dropped off?” Jonathan questioned quietly, turning down the music on the radio. The rain had let up a half-hour ago, and the sign welcoming drivers into Hawkins had been passed five minutes ago.

“Oh, the um – the motel. . . on Brawford.” You answered just as quietly. It was beginning to get dark. It always got dark quicker in the fall. You forgot why, but it always added to the feeling of fall. Dark orange sunsets and pink sunrises, leaves falling onto the concrete pavement for little kids to jump on while walking to school. At least that’s what you were reminded of in the early days of November.

But November always made your dad anxious when you were growing up. He’d always be tense throughout the first part of the month like he was ready for something bad to happen that he could focus all his attention on. But now, maybe you were actually beginning to understand why he got so uptight. Now that you thought about it, he really began to get nervous in late October as well, and in July was when he’d take a week or so off of work completely. Those were the days that worried you. He’d be held up in his office going through old things of his that he kept hidden away in the closet until that time of year.

November made sense to you now. But October and early July? Those were odd.

“The motel? Like, Linda’s motel? The lady who’s daughter used to babysit me?”

“Well, the owner is named Linda, I didn’t know her daughter used to babysit you.” You responded, shifting in your seat to cross your legs and bring your arms to tighten around yourself. “But yeah. You know, the only motel in Hawkins.”

Jonathan nodded, taking a right turn onto an unmarked street. But it was the way to the motel, you knew that.

“You’re emancipated, right? That’s the word around school.” The attempt at small talk was genuine, and it was obvious by how he gave you a quick glance before looking back to the road.

“Yeah.” Was your only answer. You didn’t know how to elaborate on that. You didn’t have papers. Just a load of cash you’d saved for over a year from doing chores, random bets with friends that you’d won. It allowed you to pay for a room and cheap food. But Linda had offered to let you stay there for free if you helped her around the motel. You’d agreed. So you washed sheets, made sure appliances were still working in rooms, cleaned rooms when people checked out, and went about their business.

The motel came into view when Jonathan turned onto Brawford, and the first thing you’d noticed was the red BMW parked near the front office, with a familiar brunette leaning against the trunk of the car. There was only one person in all of Hawkins you knew who had such an expensive car.

“Harrington knows you’re staying here?” Jonathan asked, pulling into the parking lot and into a spot a few spaces away from Steve’s car.

“I never told him.” You responded, reaching into the backseat, grabbing his shoulder bag, and pulling it into your lap. Counting out the number of posters, you took half of the stack and a random pen from the bag. Tearing off a corner from a poster you wrote down the number for your motel room and handed it to him. “If you need help with anything, call me. I’m serious.”

Jonathan nodded, taking the small piece of paper as you got out of the car. The sound of distant cars driving by against the set street could be heard, as well as drops of water sliding off the roof of the motel and hitting the metal railing. You looked at Steve, hearing Jonathan drive out of the parking lot and down the street.

“I wouldn’t expect to see you here, Your Majesty.”

Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes at your greeting. He crossed his arms over his chest, which is when you noticed the thin black notebook, with red ink scratched into it. He saw you look at the notebook and he held it out to you.

Holding the stack of posters close to your chest with one hand, you reached out and took the notebook from him with the other. “Mr. Swann told me, to tell you, to stop writing in red pen.” You chuckled a bit at his comment, placing the posters on top of the notebook and holding it close.

Steve gave you a questioning look before reaching his hand back out, his index finger hooking onto the notebook and pulling it to be parallel with the ground so he could see the posters. “You’re helping Jonathan? I thought that was about your project?”

Sighing, you pulled the notebook back. “His brother’s missing, Steven.” At the sound of his full first name, Steve shifted uncomfortably. “No one at school is in his corner, right now. Sure, people are volunteering, and the cops are trying to help, but no one at school is actually trying to support him. Besides, Will needs to come home.”

“He’s a bit odd. I’ve known him since preschool, I just-”

“He has issues opening up. That’s it. I’m sure having people think you’re odd since preschool doesn’t really help.” Steve sighed at that, looking down at the ground, kicking the ground with his foot, almost gently. “You know, if you went missing, I’d help try to find you.”

At that, the two of you seemed to switch demeanors, with him looking up at you and you turn your attention to the wet ground. “Begrudgingly.” You added quickly, getting a laugh from him.

“Well. . . It’s something, I guess. Not as rude as I thought.” He joked, moving to open the trunk of his car. Looking up you watched as he pulled out a plastic bag, and hold it out to you.

“If you put anthrax in there-”

“Y/n, are you serious? Where would I get drugs?”

“I mean, I’ve heard you talk about weed before.” You responded, taking the bag from him. Holding the notebook and posters between your upper arm and ribs as you held open the bag and reached in for something that was in plastic packaging. Turning it in the bag to see the Sony logo. A metallic, pink, rectangular device in the packaging. “A walkman?”

“Yeah, I figured you’d like one. Everyone else seems to have one, except for you.”

“What’s the catch?” You asked, tilting your head.

Steve shook his head, placing his hand over his chest in fake offense. “Catch? What, I can’t buy something nice for a friend?”

“Oh, so we’re _friends_?” You asked, a smile creeping onto your face. “I already owe you like five bucks for lunch last week, it’s starting to feel like you're trying to collect as many favors that you can cash in whenever you want.”

Steve shook his head again. “No. I had to go to Radioshack for my mom, I saw the Walkman and thought you’d like one.”

Nodding in response you grabbed a plastic case, the cover for a familiar album. “AC/DC? You bought me cassettes?” You hadn’t had anything to listen to music on for a while. Sure M.TV was available in your motel room, but the speaker was fuzzy and sometimes cut out during the best parts of a song.

“You don’t really strike me as Rick Springfield kind of person.” He shrugged. “You seem more like a rock kind of person.”

“Hey, Jessie’s Girl is gonna be a classic, just you wait and see. You’ll be begging your future kids to stop playing it.” You responded. “But. . . yeah. I get it from my dad. Queen, The Smiths, The Clash.”

The two of you stayed quiet for a second as you looked into the bag again, seeing a few more protective cases for cassettes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come over? Carol’s been up my ass all day about trying to get you to come, and from what I’ve noticed, you don’t hang out with people outside of school.” The concern that was mixed into his voice was subtle, but you noticed it, and you’d lying if you said you didn’t appreciate his concern. He cared about people. While a lot of people wouldn’t see Steve Harrington as the type, you knew he was. He was just so wrapped up with Carol and Tommy that he didn’t take the time to realize he treated others.

“I’m sure. Parties aren’t really my thing, even with only a few people. Three’s a crowd, ya’ know.”

Steve gave an understanding nod. “Right. . . Enjoy your music, by the way, asshole.”

“Enjoy your party, douchebag.”

* * *

_The smell of coffee, cinnamon, and fresh baked goods surrounded the coffee shop as you held onto your little brother’s hand. The two-year-old little boy had just started to walk outside of the home, though he still insisted on holding someone’s hand. Considering you were the closest to his height, he usually went for you._

_Waiting by the counter with your dads for your drinks allowed your gaze to wander. The warmth that the shop usually offered seemed to fade, and be replaced by a cool air that surrounded you and as that happened you saw a young woman with a child around your brother’s age. She wore a pale pink sleeveless shirt tucked into a flared skirt. Her hair was neatly done and put up, and her jewelry was sparkling around her neck and wrist. A single silver ring with a diamond on her left ring finger._

_The woman looked directly at you, readjusting her grip on the infant she was holding and giving you a warm smile as she walked towards the counter._

_Looking up to your dads to see if they had noticed her as well, you saw they were talking to each other, and when you looked back over to where she had been, the warmth of the coffee shop came back and the woman was gone, as well as the child._

* * *

_“Torrey-”_

_“Oh hush, James.” Torrey held her finger up to James’ mouth, he stepped back a bit, grabbing onto Olivia’s shoulder as the older girl moved to her bed, reaching under and grabbing a bag from underneath. “We’re going on an adventure. Buddy up, losers.”_

_Looking over to your left you saw Daniel looking at Torrey with a skeptical look, sitting on the arm of the rundown couch in the motel room. His brown hair unbrushed and sticking up in random directions. The imprint of the seam of his pillow in his cheek from when he was sleeping. You already felt bad enough that you had to wake them up because Torrey was on some sort of sugar rush._

_“This is a terrible idea,” Olivia grumbled, pulling on her vans and hoodie. “Dad’s gonna kill us.” She added, speaking mostly to Derek. James, Derek, Issac, and Olivia were all siblings. With Olivia being the only girl in the family and probably the second most reasonable out of her siblings. James was first in that regard._

_“What? You think mine won’t kill us?” Torrey asked, gesturing to her two younger siblings, Sarah and Howard. “They’ll be fine,” Torrey added, gesturing to you and Daniel. “Uncle Will is always nervous to even take something away from them. Especially, Y/n. She’s daddy’s little girl.”_

_“Shut up, Torrey!” you told her, grabbing your jacket from the armchair. “I am not ‘daddy’s little girl’ I do what I want!”_

_“Oh yeah? Then don’t chicken out, we’re gonna go to the liquor store. I’ll buy you guys some drinks, just not actual liquor. I’m not gonna be responsible for Uncle Will’s little girl getting blackout drunk.”_

_“You know how Will is with her, he’ll lose his shit if he knows she even left for the vending machine!” James defended you._

_“No, I’ll come! I can keep a secret.” You responded, looking up at your oldest cousin, even in the dim lighting with only the lamp on Torrey’s nightstand on, you could tell that her dark brown eyes were narrowed in doubt. “You know, for someone who’s in college and engaged, you’re a terrible influence.” You told her._

_“Believe me, I know. Buddy up!”_

_Sighing, you looked over to Daniel who had gotten his shoes and jacket on as well and was already walking over, taking your hand as Torrey went over to the door, unlocking it and looking both ways down the walkway, before turning to look at the rest of you who had already grabbed someone’s hand. She held her finger up to her lips letting out a ‘shhh’ before slipping out of the door, with Derek and Sarah following right after, then James and Olivia, You and Daniel, then Howard and Issac following right after. On your way out, you noticed a small dent in the wall, like when you missed the nail and the hammer hit the wall instead. It had clearly been painted over, but it was there._

_Issac closed the door with a quiet click just as you had all reached the stairs, quietly stepping down the stairs and down into the parking lot._

_Your cousins didn’t seem to notice, but you had, the front office was lit up, the floor to ceiling windows allowing you to notice the old woman, likely in her 80’s looking at all of you, but making eye contact with you. She looked as though she’d seen a ghost._

_The owner of the motel came out from the backroom, going to the old woman and taking her away from the windows. The younger woman was still older, but she looked at you all as well and froze._

_You knew staring was considered rude, but you couldn’t help but stare. Both women seemed as though they’d seen something unbelievable. You only looked away when you were so far away that you couldn’t see them anymore._


	4. Lens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You notice something about a fellow classmate and find something out about Jonathan.

“You’re a terrible person.”

“Yeah, I know, it keeps me up at night.”

Robin threw her head back, laughing at your response as Joseph shook his head in disagreement. “That’s a bald-faced lie,” he muttered, opening his carton of milk.

“No, no, you’re right, I sleep like a baby.” Usually, you sat alone at lunch, preferring to keep to yourself but Joseph and Robin had insisted you at least give it a shot. Band nerds were never really the type you hung out with, but some of them were also in your art class, so you decided one 45 minutes lunch wouldn’t kill you. “But am I wrong? Robin, look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll drop it.”

Robin shook her head, keeping a hand over her mouth to try and stifle her laughter. “It’s because you know I’m right.”

“Joe, Rob, why haven’t you brought her here before?” Jan questioned, her own laughter had died down. “Just get her to join the drumline and we’ll have a dream team.”

You shook your head vigorously, taking a sip from the apple juice you’d picked up from the food line. “I have never, and will never join band, nice try,” you responded.

“How do you know about seating arrangements if you’ve never been in band?” you’d joked about Joseph getting pushed back in seats in band class. You’d gone into the classroom a week before to get something for your biology teacher, and when you went in today for the same reason, Joseph had been pushed two seats back. The three front seats for each instrument were reserved for the best of those players.

But the question had your mood deflating slowly like a balloon kept by a little kid in their bedroom. “Oh. . . um. . . my little brother, he played- _plays_ the clarinet. He was in his class’ second seat I'm pretty sure.”

Robin gave you a curious look, her plastic fork held lazily in her hand with a piece of meatloaf barely holding onto the prongs. “You have a brother? What else don’t we know?”

“Oh, there’s plenty.” You joked. The group of teens went back to normal conversation, but you remained fairly quiet, eating the room temperature meatloaf before you looked over the table. Jan and Joseph were talking about the next football game, while a few others were talking about random things, but you saw Robin’s eyes following something. Looking to where her gaze led, you saw a group of girls heading for the exit. Tammy Thompson, Diana Lock, and Wendy Harris all chatting and laughing.

You knew that look though, you’d seen people crushing on others not so subtly, and this was exactly that. A smile came onto your face. Since you’d started at Hawkins, you’d kept most information about your family to yourself, especially the information that you were raised by two men. It was a rural part of Indiana, and as your dad had told you before, in this time period, in this type of area, there was a certain way people wanted you to be, and for your own safety, sometimes you had to keep secrets.

You couldn’t imagine what it was like for Robin, age 15, born and raised in the small little town in the ’70s and ’80s, having a crush on one of those girls had to be hell for her. But it let you know that not everyone was ‘cookiecutter.’

You wouldn’t tell anyone, that’d be cruel, and it wasn’t your place. Robin could be plenty of things, but it wasn’t your business to speculate.

* * *

Holding the blue folder you made your way outside, grabbing the two sides of your jacket, pulling them together as the breeze hit you. A few months ago you would have questioned anyone wearing a corduroy jacket, but now? You understood it. It was warm and the sherpa lining made you feel like a fuzzy blanket was wrapped around you.

Looking at the parking lot you saw Jonathan’s car parked in the student lot, not all that far from the main entrance. That wouldn’t be abnormal, except for the students leaning against the Ford. Two girls, two boys. Carol, Tommy, Steve, and the redheaded girl you recognized as Nicole, she’d come into one of your classes to take pictures for the yearbook.

Jonathan wasn’t there.

Reaching to your side you turned the volume down on the walkman, walking towards the car. It was giving you bad vibes to see them like that, almost waiting for something to happen. Once you were close enough you stopped the cassette and pulled the headphones off of your ears. “What’s going on here?”

They all looked at you, their faces mostly blank, but there was an emotion under it that you couldn’t quite place, but it wasn’t a happy one, that was something you knew for sure. “Stick around, find out.” Tommy finally spoke, making you look at him. the phrase made your train of thought come to a sudden halt, before going onto a dirt road, away from the man-made street. so maybe instead of a ‘train’, it was a car.

Tilting your head you opened your mouth to speak before hearing a set of footsteps coming close. Turning your head, you saw Jonathan.

“Hey, man.” Steve greeted him getting off of the trunk of the Ford, taking a few steps towards the two of you. He didn’t at all look happy, and when you looked at Tommy and Carol? Neither did they.

“What’s going on?”

“Nicole here was, uh, telling us about your work.”

Where was your place in this whole situation? It felt like you were watching something play out on the playground of an elementary school. “We’ve heard great things.” Carol gave a condescending nod.

“Yeah, sounds cool,” Tommy added.

“And we’d just love to take a look. You know, as. . . connoisseurs of art.” you’d never actually heard that word used in person, and considering that you knew Steve wasn’t in any art class the school had to offer, or even in photography like Jonathan, but you knew Nicole was. What happened?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonathan tried to dodge the conversation, going to walk past Tommy to get to his car. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t jump a bit when Tommy snatched Jonathan’s bag away from him. “Hey! Please, give me my bag.”

“Thomas.” You tried as Tommy tossed the bag to Steve.

“Man, he is totally trembling. He must really have something to hide.” looking at Jonathan you saw the look of fear on his face. Someone who was completely innocent of something wouldn’t look that scared. “Ah. Here we go.” Steve spoke, taking glossy photos from Jonathan’s bag. “Oh, man.”

“Let me see,” Tommy told Steve, taking a few of the photos. You’d had enough of just guessing what the hell was going on, so you took the few steps over to Steve, taking a photo from him, only to be met with a black and white photo of a back patio. And even with the glare from the sun reflecting light off of the glossy print, you could make out who was who in the photo, and the steam coming from the top of a pool. It had to have been from the night before, at the party Steve and Carol had both tried to get you to come to.

“Oh, my God,” you murmured to yourself, looking at Jonathan. It felt gross, it was a _total_ invasion of privacy.

“Yeah, this isn't creepy at all.” Carol scoffed.

“Guess you’re glad you weren’t there,” Tommy mumbled to you as he looked at a photo. You didn’t have anything to respond with, what was there to say?

“I was looking for my brother.”

“No.” Steve interrupted. “No, this is called stalking.”

“What’s going on?”

At the sound of a new voice, your gaze was torn away from Jonathan and put on Nancy who had just come over, just as confused as you had been. “Here’s the starring lady,” Tommy commented

“What?”

“This creep was spying on us last night. He was probably gonna save this one for later.” Carol spoke, pulling a photo out from the stack she had and holding it out to Nancy.

“See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong but. . .” Steve moved from beside you and walked over to Jonathan. “Man, that’s the thing about perverts. . . it’s hardwired into them. You know, they just can’t help themselves.” the rip of the photo didn’t shock you. He had every right to be angry, to feel violated in a way. You would have too. “So. . . we’ll just have to take away his toy.”

That did shock you. Standing up completely straight you shook your head as Steve walked back over. “No, please, not the camera.”

“Steve, _don’t_ ,” you told him, grabbing onto the rolled-up sleeve of his jacket. Jonathan tried to come over, but Tommy stopped him.

“No, no, wait, wait. . . Tommy. It’s okay.” Steve reached into the shoulder bag, pulling out the camera and walking to Jonathan. “Here you go, man.” As Jonathan reached out to take the camera from him, Steve let it drop and the lens shattered on the ground. “Come on, let’s go. The game’s about to start.”

Carol took the photo you were holding from you, ripping it as she walked away. You could help but look at the camera. The shattered glass lens of the camera had left one of the larger pieces near your feet and looking down, you could see your reflection in it. You didn’t look like yourself. You didn’t look like the 15-year-old girl you remembered. Your hair was a bit longer, and even in the hazy reflection, you could tell you had bags under your eyes. You didn’t feel like you looked like your father’s daughter or your brother’s older sister.

“What were you doing there?” you questioned quietly, kneeling down to pick up the shard of glass. 

“I told you, I was looking for my brother.”

“I don’t know if I believe that Jonathan, but-”

“What? But what?” he snapped, looking at you from his broken camera, he was angry.

“ _Don’t_ do that, I had _nothing_ to do with this. You can be angry at them, but not me. Be angry at the world right now if you want to be, _I am too!_ Be mad at the world for similar reasons to me if you want, because your little brother’s missing and your father’s a shitty person, you wanna get angry at that? Go ahead! And welcome to the fucking club of constantly being angry but having to keep it under wraps.”

* * *

It was Thursday morning, and in the 15 years that you’d been sentient and knowing what was happening around you, you’d never felt like this. Like everything was crashing around you, and that there was something terribly wrong happening. But it had been settling into your chest for the past few months, settling in as it would always be there, or like a rubber band being stretched slowly. And like a rubber band, it would either break from being stretched too far, or it would snap back into place and leave a red mark on someone’s skin for a few days.

With what had happened the day before, you decided to stay ‘home’ from school, finding comfort in the four walls of your motel room. The entire situation and state of the town around you made you think, and wonder. How were your parents coping? What was going on in their heads? How did _Torrey_ feel? Or even James and Daniel? What about Olivia? She had been right next to you when it happened. The town wasn’t coping all too well right now, so you couldn’t imagine how they’d be coping in the summer of 2019. All it did was make you question, why hadn’t you ever hear about the fall of 1983?

It was important, it meant something, it had to have affected your dad in some way. It was affecting you, maybe for different reasons.

A shiver shot up your spine, making your entire body tense up before trying to shake it off with your shoulders as you grabbed the bowl of food from the microwave. Linda had been nice enough to give you her old microwave when she bought a new one, it allowed you to eat in the motel room, instead of buying food from the few places that offered burgers or pizza in the small town of Hawkins.

Sitting down on the edge of your bed you grabbed a plastic spoon from your bedside table, eating the likely just as unhealthy as burgers food. The tv was on, some random cartoon playing. You’d watched it as a kid before, your dad had it on DVD when you were growing up, and you were sure it had been on a streaming service at one point. He-Man. A cartoon that probably was only made to promote a line of toys. The cartoon style reminded you of one show you knew you watched on a streaming service before. Jem and Holograms, you were pretty sure was the name of it.

Sighing, you reached for the remote, flipping through the channels. But you stopped at the local news, continuing to eat, staying quiet.

_“To you, Hank.”_

_“Thank you, Marsha. Late last night, here at the quarry, William Byers’ body was found. Byers went missing Sunday evening-”_

Looking up at the Tv, all you could do was stare at the reporter, standing in front of what you assumed was the quarry.

That couldn’t be right. With a shaky hand, you placed your bowl on the bedside, standing up and putting both of your hands on your chest. You were still there. You were breathing, existing. _“Investigators are trying to determine Byers’ cause of death-”_

He couldn’t _possibly_ be dead.


	5. Rubber Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As things grow tense in Hawkins you come across a comforting and familiar face, and are reminded of something you’d forgotten about.

This was what you meant. That feeling that had settled deep into your chest had finally been stretched too far and had broken. Like a rubber band. And like a rubber band, you were moving faster than you thought you could, like a rubber band that was let go and sent flying to the other side of a classroom, or even like a hair tie.

Your feet were carrying you as fast as they could, trying to get through the small town as fast as you could. You were starting to regret pretending to be sick every time you had to run a mile in P.E. Your coach always allowed you all to have Fridays to practice the mile. He allowed you all to run or walk, or job, as long as you finished the three laps before you all had to go in and change back into your street clothes. Maybe if you’d even just jogged on Fridays you could be going faster than this, and maybe your legs and core wouldn’t feel like they were on fire. Your throat burned the worst. Like sandpaper against an open wound.

You were still there, you were breathing, you were moving, that was a good sign, it meant something else was wrong, it meant Will couldn’t possibly be dead. You wouldn’t be here if he was unless it was like- no, don’t think like that.

They’d be at the coroner’s office, wouldn’t they? That’s what the little voice in your head told you, but it didn’t sound like you. Like your own thought process trying to reason with you, but like someone telling you. It was fine, you’d be fine, just get there.

Just as you turned the corner, you knocked into someone, sending you to the ground. It knocked the wind out of you, making you realize just how dry your throat really was, just how badly you needed to down some water.

“Oh.” It was an older woman who came over to you, the same one you knocked into. She was frazzled. You couldn’t make out her face as she was grabbing onto your hand and shoulder, helping you onto your feet. “I’m so sorry, I just-”

Whatever she’d said, it didn’t reach you. Because once you were on your feet, you had the wind knocked out of you again. She was still holding onto you, and you were holding onto her arm, the corduroy material of her jacket soft and ribbed under your fingertips.

You knew her, you knew the brown hair and brown eyes, the pale skin, and her firm grasp on you. Suddenly reminded of when you were four, your grandmother had visited for Christmas, and when you went anywhere, you insisted on holding her hand.

“Are you alright?”

“You’re. . .” You couldn’t find the words. “You’re Mrs. Byers.”

She stared at you, tilting her head in confusion before looking to the pavement. “Your bag.” She pointed out. Following her gaze, you saw the red backpack on the ground. Letting go of her arm you leaned down picking it up before looking at her again.

“I needed to find you.” You breathed out, swallowing your own saliva, feeling your throat burn again at the feeling, knowing that it would go away if you kept doing that. “It’s about your son-”

“If Jonathan told you anything-”

“He’s not dead.” You interrupted, holding onto your bag, still staring at her before you shrugged off the sleeve of your jacket and held out your bare arm for her to see. When you left the motel room you hadn’t bothered to dress more warmly than a pair of jeans and a jacket. You were still in the t-shirt you’d worn to bed.

Joyce gave you a confused look, before looking at your arm. There, on your forearm was where a birthmark should be, but instead, it was a discolored burn mark that had mostly healed. “Your son, Will, has a birthmark on his right arm. I had it too, but when I was like nine, I burned myself on a pan when my aunt was making pancakes. On Christmas eve.”

Joyce just looked at you again, confused, yet intrigued, and still frazzled. “How did you know he had a birthmark?”

“Because I got mine from him. . . You know he’s not dead, I can tell,” you told her, before unzipping the bag and rummaging through it awkwardly, getting side-eyes from people passing by. You found your old wallet and opened it, pulling out the small glossy photo with the white borders. From an Instax camera, you’d bought when you were 13.

You held the photo out to her. “That’s me and my cousins, James and Howard. In the back, you can kinda see my little brother, Danny.” Joyce took the photo from you as you pulled out another. “And this one is of me, my uncle, and my dad, at Thanksgiving.” Joyce took that photo from you as well, examining it before looking back and forth from the photo to you.

“What’s this number?” she asked, pointing to the four digits at the corner of the white border.

“2017. That’s when the photo was taken. The year 2017. I swear I’m not lying, I’m not crazy, and I know you’re not.”

Joyce stared at you, holding both of the photos before she looked at your arm again. You were practically shaking. “My name’s Y/n. Y/n Byers. You’re my grandma, and Will’s my-”

“Dad?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Will’s my dad.”

She held the photos out to you and you put them back in your wallet, dropping it into your bag and zipping it closed. Before you could even get your arm back into the sleeve of your jacket, Joyce had stepped closer to you, hands placed on your cheeks, making you look at her.

“Yeah.” She spoke mostly to herself. “You look like one of us. . . You have my mom’s nose.” You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling tears well up in your eyes.

“I do?”

She nodded a bit, with a smile you could only describe as hesitant, and sad. “I remember what my mom looks like. I always wanted a little girl, and every time i imagined what she’d look like, she looked just like you.”

“You believe me?”

“I know what my boys look like.” she nodded. “They look older in that photo. . . but those are them. . . He’s alive, I knew he was.”

“If he wasn’t I wouldn’t be here.”

What you weren’t expecting was for her to grab you and pull you into a tight embrace. You hadn’t seen your grandmother in almost a year, but you remembered the way she hugged people, but this was tighter than what you were used to, she wasn’t an old woman who spoiled her grandchildren rotten, she was just a woman who was struggling to provide for her two sons, and she was stronger. It made you realize where your dad got the habit of hugging a bit too tight from.

“We need to find him,” You told her.

“I know.” She nodded against your shoulder. “Just let me hold you for a few seconds.”

“Yeah. . . yeah okay, I can do that.”

* * *

“How did this happen?” It was a good question, and you didn’t have an answer for her. You didn’t know how you ended up here, you just knew that that one moment, you were having an argument with Torrey, and when you blinked and opened your eyes, none of your cousins were there. And the events that followed had you even more confused than before.

“I wish I knew. . . All I know is that one moment I was there, and the next I was. . . I was not there.” You responded, looking at the Christmas lights that were in the living room as Joyce unlocked the front door and let you in.

The black letters painted onto the old wallpaper caught your attention. It was the alphabet, with a bulb from the lights above each one. You always knew that your grandma had some anxiety issues, and growing up, you thought that maybe your dad had inherited them a bit, but maybe you had too. It would make sense if you both had.

“James and Howard-”

“James is my uncle Lucas’ son, and Howard is my uncle Mike’s only son.” You already knew what her question was going to be. “Out of the nine of us, James is more level headed. He actually thinks things through. Torrey is the exact opposite. Even when we were all little where was. . . chaos in a bottle. She’s Mike’s oldest, by the way. . . The oldest out of all of us. But I’m not really counting Uncle Jonathan’s kids.”

Joyce smiled a little bit at your response, watching as you looked around, following the wires for the Christmas lights. “You know, maybe for Christmas you can put this outside, make it so you can see your house from space.” It was a joke, but you were somewhat serious.

“So. . . Will’s talking to you through the Christmas lights?” You asked, turning and looking at Joyce, who gave a nod. “We both sound crazy, then.” You smiled, looking at the living room, it was a mess, more than just a living room that hadn’t been cleaned in a week, but like an abandoned home that had seen much brighter days.“What do we need to do?”

“In Jonathan’s room, there’s a stereo system. . . think you can grab it?” Joyce questioned, setting down her purse on the couch. You nodded, heading to the hallway. You didn’t know which room was Jonathan’s. Opening one door you were met with a bathroom, opening another you were met with a room that looked like it was used for storage. Continuing down the hall you opened the third door and found what looked like Jonathan’s room. The stereo by his bed.

Walking in, you stepped over clothing that had been discarded on the floor, and a random chip bag by the footboard before you reached the boom box, grabbing the handle and heading back out of the bedroom, setting the stereo down and watching as Joyce pressed play

This song, it would always be the thing you sang to yourself when you were bored. It was the one song your dad always played in the living room when he had to clean things up or start working on something.

“Come on!” Joyce’s sudden yelling did surprise you. And you just stared at her as she paced within a three feet section of the trashed living room. “I know you’re here!”

A soft bang came from the wall of the living room, by the window. Joyce heard it too because she looked over just as you did. It continued a steady and soft clanging. You reached down, pressing the stop button on the boombox. Joyce walked over to the wall, staring at it. You could hear what sounded like whining, it sounded like a kid.

“Mom?”

“Will?” Joyce gasped.

You weren’t expecting to actually hear Will speaking. You were expecting him to talk through the lights, not the wall.

“Mom!”

“Will!”

Joyce ran to the front door from the wall. You stepped away from the boombox, going towards the wall. Reaching a hand up, you placed your palm against the wallpaper, digging your nails into it. Something told you to tear at it. Joyce ran back in, running over to you as you tore part of the wallpaper away, being met with a thin, almost flesh-colored looking membrane.

“Will!” Joyce shouted, putting her hands against it.

From the light shining into where he was, you could make out his silhouette. And it matched the photos you’d been shown of him growing up. At least you were pretty sure they did. “Oh, thank God.” Joyce cried. “Baby. . . Will”

Hearing a growl, you felt sick. It sounded so familiar. “Mom. . . Mom it’s coming!” he shouted. You’d never heard a 12-year-old sound like that. He sounded terrified, and your stomach sank.

“Will!” You shouted, placing a hand on the material. It was soft, almost damp in a way, like what you imagined it would feel like if you were to perform surgery without gloves. “Will, you need to run!” Joyce looked at you.

“What?” She demanded.

“Mom, who is that?”

“Will, listen to me, you need to run, you need to hide and you need to stay quiet!” You knew where he was, but you wished you didn’t, you wished he wasn’t there, and you wished you were just losing your mind, or that you were crazy, but it was clear that you weren’t.

“Where are you?” Joyce questioned.

“It’s like home, but it’s so dark. . . It’s so dark and empty! And it’s cold!” You knew exactly where he was. “Mom!”

“Will, listen to me! I swear I’m gonna get to you, okay? But right now, you need to do what she said, we need you to hide!”

You watched as the drywall seemed to grow back, making the opening shrink smaller and smaller. “Mom, please!”

“I will find you, but you have to run now! Run! Run!” the opening closed, but you had watched as the silhouette of Will took off running just as it had. You stepped back, trying to make sense of it just as Joyce took an ax to the wall, making you jump back, watching as she made a hole through the wall, allowing the sunshine in, and where the opening had been to see and speak to Will, there was now an opening to see the front porch.

* * *

Joyce had your hand in hers, a tight grip with both of you sitting on the living room floor. Backs against the coffee table as light shined through the hole in the wall. You’d stayed with her the entire afternoon, letting it get dark before eventually, the moon was out.

Joyce let go of your hand, standing up from the floor and heading towards the door. It sounded like a car had pulled up. You pushed yourself off of the floor. Your ass was numb. That wasn’t a very pleasant feeling.

Walking to the front door you watched as the one person you didn’t want to see step out of a black and yellow car. “Babe, Jesus, the hell happened?” Lonnie asked.

You stood there a hand on the door frame as Joyce stepped out, sobbing as Lonnie approached her. You weren’t actually expecting her to go to him, and let him hold her.

The headlights were still on, giving the former couple a rim lighting around their silhouettes. But you could see Lonnie look over at you, and furrow his brows in confusion. It was understandable. You were just the annoying 15-year-old who had gotten on his case on a school day.

“What are you doing here, little lady?” he asked, pulling away from Joyce. It made Joyce turn her head and look at you as well.

“Wait- do you know her?”

“She was with Jonathan when they came up to the city. Never did tell me her name.”

“It’s Y/n.” You responded bluntly.

He only nodded a bit, “Let’s get inside.” He told Joyce, leading her up to the front door where you were standing. “You too, kid.” He added, letting Joyce walk in, before grabbing your shoulder and nodding to the doorway.

You only returned the nod and stepped into the house again. Going to sit in the armchair near your grandma, who was now on the couch instead of the floor. Lonnie walked in and froze, eyes glancing over the scene in front of him. He closed the front door behind him, walking over to the Tv that was on its side on the ground, lifting it onto a table so it wasn’t in anyone’s way. He disappeared into the kitchen and you were left in the quiet dark with Joyce and your thoughts.

You’d been thinking for the past few hours. Remembering how you argued with Torrey before. How Daniel was upset and Olivia was trying to calm you down and defend you. But then when you blinked, they were gone, and it was freezing. It wasn’t unusual for them to play pranks, so you’d tried to rationalize it, and so you’d gone on your way through the woods to try and find them. You didn’t remember much, just how you took one step in the wrong direction and fell. You thought what happened afterward had just been a terrible dream before you woke up in the woods, soaking wet and starving.

You didn’t think that. . . that place was real. But seeing Will through the opening, hearing the growl of something near him, you suddenly knew it wasn’t.

Lonnie came back into the living room, holding three glasses and a bottle. Even in the dark, you knew it was alcohol. Lonnie handed you one of the glasses, setting the other two down as he opened the glass bottle, pouring a bit into your glass as well as the other two.

“I’m not 21.” It was pretty clear you weren’t, and Lonnie wasn’t blind.

“I know. Just don’t tell anyone,” he told you. “Drink. It’ll calm both of your nerves. Help you think straight, yeah?”

His answer to this situation was alcohol. And he gave some to a child. Yeah, that totally didn’t raise any red flags.

“I don’t know what to do.” Joyce’s voice was small, but it was there. “This whole time, I. . . I could. . . I could feel him. He was so close. He was. . .” Joyce looked to the wall. “He was right there.” She gestured. “I knew he was alive. Our hands. . . our hands were almost touching. Now it’s like I. . . uh. . . I can’t feel him anymore.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to listen to them, instead, you hesitantly raised the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip and grimacing at the taste on your tongue. You could feel the cold on your skin, the cold you knew came along with being where Will was. The deafening quiet where even your breathing felt like you were screaming into an empty void, even if it was through your nose. You knew where he was. Even if you didn’t want to.


	6. Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan finally accepts your help.

_“What the hell!”_

Jonathan was dressed nicely, likely having driven here directly from the funeral. The night before you’d taken a single sip of the drink Lonnie had given you before leaving and walking to your motel.

“Get up.” He told you, pulling the covers from your bed, allowing the warmth to quickly fade and turn to the ice-cold air around you from the motel room. Ever since you were a kid, you liked to have the room be freezing so you could bury yourself under think blankets and warm pajamas, but you didn’t have any warm pajamas and you didn’t control the temperature in the room, but the blankets on the motel bed were very warm. 

You shrieked a bit, bringing your knees to your chest, trying to gather as much remaining warmth as you could. You needed to get better pajamas. Men’s briefs and a sports bra wasn’t going to cut it much longer.

“Up,” Jonathan added, leaning down as if to try and get the message across.

“Get me something warm, ass face!” You yelled, shivering as Jonathan rolled his eyes, looking around the room before grabbing something from the ground and throwing them to you. But you were met with denim in your face. “God, you’re a dick!” You exclaimed, sitting up and pulling the jeans onto your legs and over your underwear. “It’s too damn early for this shit,” you grumbled, glaring at him before noticing the door to the room was wide open, allowing more cold air in. you didn’t even care if someone passing by could see you with unzipped and unbuttoned jeans, with no top on, you made your way over to the door, slamming it shut.

“I don’t believe you,” Jonathan told you as you wandered throughout the room, trying to find a clean shirt. “There’s more to this than just ‘common interest.’” He spoke.

“What?” You questioned, vision still blurry from sleep. “It’s rude to just stare at a half-naked girl, you know.”

“One, you’re like a fourth naked, and two, ‘ _common interest_.’ That's what you said when I asked why you wanted to help. That you wanted to see Will come home, alive. There’s more to it, I know there is.”

You scoffed a bit, going to answer before you felt a dull and growing pain in your smallest toe. Looking down you saw one of the legs of the dresser against the tip of your toe. “Mother _fucker_!” You grit your teeth, lifting your foot into your hand, using your other hand to balance on the dresser.

You let the pain slowly fade before you put your foot down and continued to move around the room, now very awake, and vision clear as you finally found a grey shirt in the corner. Pulling it on you lifted the jeans a bit more, buttoning and zipping them before grabbing your belt and feeding it through your belt loops.

“I wanted to see him come home alive-”

“You know he’s alive, don’t you?”

You turned to look at Jonathan just as you had the leather through the buckle. “ _What_?” Jonathan had clearly doubted his mother from Joyce told you the night before.

“My mom told me she saw something come through the walls in our house. She said she’s been talking to Will through the lights.” Jonathan explained. “Barbara Holland went missing.” He spoke, pulling something out from the inside of his black blazer and walking over to you.

The black and white image made your blood run cold. The figure in the photo was tall, oddly shaped, and with no face. Almost humanoid. You knew it, it could be found in your weekly nightmares. “Nancy and I think that this thing is what my mom saw. That it took Will and Barbara.” Jonathan examined your face, you’re cheeks had gone from flushed in anger to white in fear. “Have you seen it before?” He asked, grabbing your shoulder.

“Yeah. . .” You murmured, finishing getting your belt on. “Why are you here?” You asked.

“You said if I needed help, to call you. . . I didn’t have a phone so I came here. The lady in the front office told me which room you were in.”

“What is it. . . that you need help with?” You asked, looking away from the photo to Jonathan.

“Finding it.”

**⟛⟛**

“You ever shoot a gun before?” Jonathan asked, leading you out to an open area or dry, dead grass in the middle of the woods.

“Yeah,” you answered. “One parent from rural Indiana and the other from the darkest depths of _Texas_ , I know how to shoot a gun.” Indiana was much different than home. There was no building in Hawkins taller than four stories unless it was the hospital or the weird building you could see from the roof of the motel. You’d grown up in a city, in a condo on the sixth floor, your school had been two stories high.

“I’ve never been good at it,” Jonathan admitted, reaching into his bag and taking some empty cans out. “Lonnie, he uh. . . he forced Will and me to learn. I think I hated it more than Will.” He told you, heading to a lone wooden fence with you following, setting up some of the empty beer cans on the posts. “I could never hit anything, but Will? He had good aim. He just didn’t like shooting.”

“I don’t either.” You told him. “My parent, from Texas, He had it practically ingrained into him that everyone should shoot a gun to have respect for the power behind it. . . I blame his dad for that.”

Jonathan nodded in understanding, stepping away from the fence, once again with you following him. “Does your dad have a good aim?”

“Pa,” You corrected. “Not really.” was your answer. The few times Pa had taken you to a shooting range, he could hit the paper, but never the target.

“Okay, what about your mom?” He asked.

“I don’t have one. . .” You hadn’t yet shared with anyone, not even Joyce that you were the result of two men who loved each other and wanted to raise a family together. That you didn’t know the woman who had given you half of your DNA and she’d never met you. You were the result of an egg donor and a gestational surrogate. You’d only ever know your dad and pa. “I have two dads.”

Jonathan looked at you, almost shocked before tilting his head in confusion. “Two dads?”

“They’re gay, Jonathan.” You told him with a laugh. “I don’t have a mom, and I never needed one. I was loved just as much as a kid from a straight couple.”

Jonathan looked away, as if still in thought as he came to a halt, far enough away from the cans. “Okay, so Pa, is one of them, and the other is. . .”

“Dad. The other is my dad,” you confirmed.

“Okay. So did your dad have good aim?” He asked you, holding the gun out to you, grip first.

“The better of the two.” You chuckled, taking the gun from him. “I guess it makes sense, he is the one I’m related to by blood, and I think I have a good aim.” You told him.

Jonathan grinned a bit, stepping a way to let you face the cans. “It’s been a while though.” You admitted, holding the gun up, turning the safety off as you did. Jonathan stayed quiet, letting you situate your arms and your stance before you closed one eye, aiming the pistol before squeezing the trigger.

No matter how used to guns you were, you’d always jump a little bit at the sudden bang of the bullet being set off into the air, and you’d always close your eyes. It was human instinct.

After the bang, you heard the sound of a can falling. “Wow,” Jonathan mumbled. “So you weren’t lying?”

You lowered the gun, shaking your head in response and handing the gun back over to him. “There’d be no benefit in it for me to lie.” You told him, looking over. “Your turn, creeper.” Jonathan’s face fell at the nickname, but all you could do was smile, walking away from him, and sitting down on the dry yellow grass.

Sitting, you found yourself looking down at the pocketknife from your bag. The soft green handle still fit perfectly in your hand as you opened and closed it. The shots Jonathan set off echoing through the air.

The days you had to walk home from school with your little brother always made your dad anxious. And when you turned 12, he bought you pepper spray and a knife. Telling you to keep it in your bag and to never take it out while at school, but to have it out on the walk home. You’d always listened, and you always carried them with you. You used to be a young girl in a big city, and those afternoons, you had to watch your own back as well as Daniel’s. And even though you antagonized your brother often, and teased him to no end, he was the only reason you always remembered. You didn’t use to carry them for you, it was Danny. To you, he was your responsibility. Your baby brother. Even if he used to pull your hair and come into your room without permission.

“You’re supposed to hit the cans, right?” a distant voice called out from the tree line. Looking over, you saw Nancy, wearing a pale red corduroy jacket, and holding a baseball bat.

“No, actually, you see the spaces in between the cans? I’m aiming for those.”

**⟛⟛**

“You said I was saying something and that’s why you took my picture,” Nancy spoke to Jonathan. You were a few feet behind them, giving them the space to talk. You knew where they would end up in life. After all, Jonathan was your uncle, you knew who your aunt was too.

“Oh uh. . . I don’t know.” Jonathan shrugged, resting the baseball bat Nancy had brought on his shoulder. Nancy ended up with the gun, partially because you didn’t want it, and she had just as good of aim as you, so you trusted her. Jonathan had taken the bat, and you had your pocket knife, not that it would do much in a bad situation. “My guess. . . I saw this girl, you know, trying to be someone else. But for that moment. . . it was like you were alone, or you thought you were. And, you know, you could just be yourself.”

Your uncle had always been the quiet type, always analyzing things in an almost poetic way. You’d noticed it at a young age when you’d talked about a question your history teacher had talked about in class when it came to royalty. The question that was always asked throughout history by leaders. Was it better to be loved, or feared by your people? He’d taken you, your brother, and your youngest biological cousin to the drive-in around Christmas time. They were showing older movies, and when you heard they were showing Back To The Future, you’d begged your pa and dad to take you, but Jonathan offered, and so Daniel and Tyler tagged along.

With the two boys in the car and you and your uncle getting snacks before the movie, you’d asked about it. And he gave you a long-winded answer. But what it came down to was: both. You wanted a healthy balance between the two. Enough fear to know that the leader can ruthless and you’d know what bad things would happen if you betrayed them, and enough love so they would respect them, and not turn on them. But you never wanted hate. Hate resulted in revolutions, and people being thrown from their positions.

“That is such bullshit,” Nancy responded. Jonathan stopped in his tracks, with you almost knocking into him from how sudden it was.

“What?” Jonathan asked.

Nancy turned and looked at him. “I am not trying to be someone else. Just because I’m dating Steve and you don’t like him -”

“You know what? Forget it. I just thought it was a good picture.” Jonathan interrupted, continuing to walk.

“Oh, my God.” You muttered to yourself, listening to the two argue as you followed behind them.

“He’s actually a good guy.” Nancy defended. You weren’t so sure about that anymore. You used to think Steve had his moments, he could be nice sometimes, but the other day? That crossed a line. Steve had every right to be upset that Jonathan was being creepy and took photos like a stalker of him and his friends, but he didn’t have a right to break Jonathan’s camera.

“Okay.” Jonathan stammered, clearly through with the conversation.

“The other day, with the camera. He’s not like that at all. He was just being protective.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.” Jonathan scoffed.

You’d watched arguments happen in front of you, but it had never been between your uncle and your aunt. You’d watched your parents argue, you’d argued with your brother before, you’d watched a student argue with a teacher until campus security was called.

“Oh, and I guess what you did was okay?” Nancy challenged.

No, I…. I never said that.”

“He had every right to be pissed -“

“Okay, all right! Does that mean I have to like him?” Jonathan stopped and looked at Nancy.

“No.”

“Listen, don’t take it so personally, okay? I don’t like most people. He’s in the vast majority.” Jonathan told her, going to walk away again.

“You know, I was actually starting to think that you were okay.”

You looked between the two, watching them go back and forth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nancy nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking, ‘Jonathan Byers, maybe he’s not the pretentious creep everyone says he is.’”

“Well, I was just starting to think you were okay. I was thinking, ‘Nancy Wheeler, she’s not just another suburban girl who thinks she’s rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does. . . until that phase passes and they marry some boring one-time jock, who now works sales, and they live out a perfectly boring little life at the end of a cul-de-sac. Exactly like their parents, who they thought were so depressing, but now, hey, they get it.”

Jonathan walked away, leaving both you and Nancy standing there in shock. Nancy looked at you and saw you were wide-eyed, mouth agape as you tried to process what he said, but all you could think was that he was probably accurate. It was a trope in teen movies at that point.

“Who’s side are you on?” Nancy suddenly asked, making you look at her, snapped out of your shock.

“Oh, I am _not_ picking sides in this situation.”


	7. Upside

It was dark. Yet another day spent doing something you’d never be able to explain to people in the coming days. Wandering the woods surrounding Hawkins in search of a creature that you were familiar with. A thing you used to hide from for an unknown amount of time that you were sure was a dream just a day ago.

“What, are you tired?” Jonathan asked, making you stop and turn, seeing Jonathan looking at Nancy who was the furthest behind in the group.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, _still_ fighting,” you mumbled to yourself, shining your flashlight onto your watch. 8:30 pm on a Friday. You should be in bed at the motel, doing your homework while the Tv was on.

“What?” Jonathan asked in response to Nancy.

“I heard something.” Nancy’s voice was low, but you could hear it, even from how far away from her you were. The three of you kept quiet for a second, just long enough to hear a distant whimper, like an injured animal

Jonathan turned to look in the direction it came from, and Nancy took the lead, with you and Jonathan following.

What the three of you came to find made your stomach churn. You didn’t know deer could whine like that. You didn’t know they could make any sound. The doe was on the ground, bleeding from her neck

“It’s been hit by a car.” Nancy kneeled down, gently touching the dying animal, avoiding the wounds she’d acquired. “We can’t just leave it.” She spoke, pulling her hand away.

“She’s right.” You agreed. It was inhumane to let someone or something die in such a painful way. You’d dwell on it if you did leave the poor thing like this. No one deserved a painful death.

Nancy looked at her gun, hesitating. “I’ll do it.” Jonathan offered, reaching out to take the firearm.

“I thought you said -”

“I’m not nine anymore,” Jonathan responded, taking the gun. The two stood up, and Nancy stepped back to stand next to you. Sighing you shifted what was in your hands to hold both your knife and flashlight in one hand, and reached down to grab Nancy’s in your own.

Nancy squeezed your hand, and as Jonathan raised the gun, aiming at the deer, both you and Nancy turned your heads away, trying not to look. Before the sound of the gun could go off, you heard a loud growl and looked up seeing the deer be pulled away into the dark by something. The three of you jumped back, and your grip on Nancy’s hand got tighter.

“What was that?”

“Follow the blood.” You spoke, nodding to the blood left on the leaves. shining your flashlight on it. Nancy nodded hesitantly, still holding onto your hand as she began following the trail. Only moments later you were finding parts. First, the spine of the doe, covered in blood, but the meat completely peeled away.

“Where did it go?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan mumbled. “Do you two see any more blood?”

You shook your head, looking around in the dark, using your light to see. Jonathan stepped away, continuing to look, and you went with Nancy, your grips on each other’s hands tighter than before.

“Y/n,” Nancy mumbled, grabbing your attention. Looking over at her you saw where she was pointing her flashlight. There was a hole in the trunk of a tree. Blood at the front of it. It was dripping with a clear goo that almost reminded you of snot.

Nancy let go of your hand, walking over and kneeling down in front of it. Your stomach was in a bad state, making you feel light-headed almost. If what you’d thought had been a dream, wasn’t, then you knew exactly what was on the other side of that hole. A place cold, and empty, a place like Hawkins, but not quite.

“Jonathan!” Nancy called. No answer. “Do we. . . do we go in?” She asked, looking at you.

You gave a hesitant nod, slipping your bag off and setting it on the ground by the tree. “Be careful.” Your own voice was quiet, fear radiating from your bones. “Follow _my_ lead, okay?” Nancy nodded, scooting back and taking her own bag off, letting you go first. You were gonna regret it.

* * *

_“Oh, my God, you’re such a bitch!” You yelled, shaking your head and turning away from Torrey. Olivia groaned, grabbing your arm to keep you from walking off._

_“It’s me that’s the bitch? Okay, sure.” Torrey scoffed, pointing her phone at you, as you turned to look at her again, practically blinding you for a second with her flashlight. “For someone who’s never afraid of anything, you’re sure being a coward right now!”_

_Howard mumbled something under his breath, sitting down on the leave covered ground with his other sister, Sarah. The two were annoyed with the bickering between you and Torrey, the entire time since you all left the motel, it had been like this, a back and forth even though everyone else was fine and calm_

_James shook his head, grabbing Daniel’s shoulder, pulling him away from the two of you, watching as you tried to step towards Torrey._

_“I’m not a coward, Wheeler, I just know where the boundaries are!”_

_“Who cares?” Torrey shouted. Derek and Issac trying to help her calm down. The Sinclair children all split up among the group, Olivia with you, James with Daniel. Derek and Issac with Torrey. “In case you’re forgetting, this town used to be our parent’s home! We’ve known where my grandparents lived since I was born! They’ve always been in that cul-de-sac! We’ve always known where their grandparents live! They’ve been in the same house since 69!’” You shook your head, ready to go back to the motel. “We’ve never known where your dad used to live! I finally got it out of my mom and dad, and you don’t wanna go?”_

_“People live there, Torrey! It’s not my dad’s home anymore! It hasn’t been since he was like our age!” You screamed. “It’s the middle of the night, we all agreed to go to the liquor store, not the middle of the woods!”_

_“Clearly it’s not the middle, because I can see the house!”_

_“Just drop it!”_

* * *

“Are you okay?”

“Hm?” You were snapped out of your own thoughts. The memory playing back in your head in the absence of noise. The last thing you’d ever said to your cousin, and it was an argument, in the middle of the woods.

“Are you okay?” Jonathan repeated. There wasn’t one clear answer you could give. Physically, you were a bit shaken up. But mentally? You felt like everything was crumbling around you like you were close to having a breakdown. But emotionally, you felt. . . angry. _Numb_ in a way.

“I’ll be fine.” You responded, pulling on the jacket Jonathan had handed you. It was his own, and it was warm enough to keep you from freezing.

You could remember it. One second you were arguing with Torrey, the next you were alone, none of your cousins with you, and in the middle of the woods. You’d gone to find them, and when you took one step in a certain direction you fell into that place. You couldn’t remember how long you’d been there. And you couldn’t remember much, just that you had to have crawled out of something similar to what you and Nancy had crawled into. But you remembered waking up in the woods, with the sun shining and you had been starving.

That’s when you walked into town, and bought a bottle of water from a convenience store and saw the date on the newspaper. ‘ _1983_ ’

He nodded and looked away. Nancy had gotten into the shower a few moments ago, and you could hear the water running, the distinct humming in the walls from the water running through the pipes.

“How did you recognize it? How do you. . . How do you know Will’s alive?”

Sighing, you looked down at the floor, before looking to your bag that had been dropped by the door of Nancy’s bedroom. Walking over you kneeled down and opened it, pulling out your wallet, like you had done with Joyce, pulling the photo of you with your dad and uncle out.

Looking back at Jonathan you saw him staring at you.

Standing back up you grabbed your bag, holding the photo out to him. He looked between you and the photo, hesitant, but once given another second he took the photo from you.

“I know he’s alive because he’s my dad.” You answered. “That’s him, to my right. To the left, that’s you. . . Our common interest is that you want him alive and home. I need him alive and home. And clearly, he will be. Because I’m here. I’m alive, I’m breathing. I haven’t disappeared _yet_.” You joked a bit.

You were trying your best, but the longer this was happening, the more stressed you became. “I should go.”


End file.
